


Therapeutic B.A.R.F.

by Howlingdawn



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, B.A.R.F. | Binarily Augmented Retro Framing, Canonical Character Death (mentioned), Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Family Feels, Gen, I Made Myself Cry, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Male Bonding, Minor Character Deaths (mentioned), Post-Infinity War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:34:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howlingdawn/pseuds/Howlingdawn
Summary: In the battle against Thanos, Loki was nearly killed. As he saved him from death's clutches, Strange heard him say something about apologizing to Frigga. So, with some help from Tony's B.A.R.F. glasses and a certain Cloak of Levitation, Strange offers Loki a less fatal way to have that much-needed moment with his mother.





	Therapeutic B.A.R.F.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was supposed to be a nice little blurb, 1k tops with only mild pain. It turned into a 4.6k angst fest. Not gonna lie, I made myself cry, and I hope you guys do the same. Sorry not sorry, my beloved readers!

Loki sat on the floor, leaning against a wall of windows. He had his legs drawn up, balancing the sketchbook Thor had snuck him on them. His hand throbbed, the gash on his palm and his injured knuckles protesting his grip on a pencil. He bit his lip to ignore the pain, pressing on with his sketch of the woods visible outside, with some Asgardian embellishments. Anything to forget the battle against Thanos.

"Loki?"

Loki snapped the sketchbook shut and leapt to his feet, aiming his pencil like a dagger. His abused hand spasmed. The pencil slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor, and he grabbed his wrist with a barely-suppressed whimper. Luckily, it wasn't an actual threat that had just walked through the door.

"Are you all right?" Strange asked, crossing the room towards him.

Loki straightened up, tucking his hand against his stomach. "I'm fine."

Strange stopped a few feet away. "You're really not. Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"It'll heal," Loki muttered.

"You'll heal faster if you let a doctor look at it." He held out a hand. "Please."

Dressed in only a pale grey hoodie and black sweatpants, he didn't _look_ like he was out to assassinate or monitor Loki. "If I let you look, will you leave?" he muttered.

"Maybe."

Reluctantly, Loki stuck his hand out. Strange took it lightly, but Loki still bit his lip, both to keep quiet and to keep from jerking his hand away. Strange inspected the appendage with deft but gentle touches, attention moving from the swollen and scraped knuckles to the palm gash and back again. He had Loki do some movements, all of which hurt like Hel. Finally, he proclaimed, "Your knuckles are sprained, not broken. Friday, is there a-"

Part of the wall slid open, revealing a hidden cabinet of medical supplies. Loki glanced from the ceiling to the cabinet, still weirded out by a faceless voice that watched your every move and acted entirely human. Strange had hardly had more time than Loki to adjust to it, but he accepted it easily, tugging Loki over to the medicine.

"Tony built one of these into some of the bigger rooms," Strange said as he started picking out what he needed. "Seeing as he's surrounded by people with a tendency of getting hurt. Lucky for you, that means you don't have to take a trip down to the infirmary."

As he straightened up, a stainless-steel surface lowered down from a nearby section of wall. "Lean on that," Strange instructed, spreading out his chosen supplies on it: disinfectant, medical tape, a pill bottle, gauze pads, and two little pieces of tech Loki didn't recognize. He rested his elbow on it, shifting his weight onto one leg to ease the remaining ache in his side from a different wound.

"Right, so I'm going to clean those cuts up, wrap your knuckles, and then give you a little nanite injection to help the cuts heal. Questions?"

"Nanites?"

He pointed at one piece of tech, which basically looked like a clunky grey needle. "They're tiny robots that will go into your bloodstream and help your cells fix things. Like on _Star Trek_ \- which you probably haven't seen, have you?"

"No."

Strange sighed, wetting a small pad with the disinfectant. "We'll have to fix that, too. Tony actually designed that thing to look like one of their hyposprays."

Loki couldn't suppress a hiss as the disinfectant touched his scraped knuckles.

"So," Strange said, perhaps a bit too loudly to cover the noise. "Um. Listen, I'm… sorry about the whole falling for thirty minutes thing. I- I didn't know you had a phobia of falling."

"You were doing what you had to," Loki allowed. "I understand that."

The sorcerer gave an awkward one-shoulder shrug. "My first idea was to lock you in a porta potty on some construction site, but, well, I figured falling would be a little less unfortunate than having to watch a bunch of sweaty workmen… you know."

Loki wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I… appreciate you rethinking that option."

Strange chuckled, now affixing a gauze pad to the gash on his palm. "That should keep that from getting infected while the nanites work," he said. "And no drawing for a while, all right? Your hand needs to rest."

"I- I wasn't- I was just-"

Strange paused to level a knowing look at Loki. "I know what a sketchbook looks like, Loki. Everyone has their hobbies – God knows we all need something to do that doesn't involve fighting – and I won't pry, but for now, find a different stress relief." He held up one perpetually trembling, heavily scarred hand. "You don't wanna end up even remotely like me."

"Noted," Loki said, resisting the urge to pull his hands protectively to his side.

Strange moved on to wrapping his knuckles, then picked up the still-unidentified piece of tech. It was a little black cube, with a half-sphere on one end that shone with a metallic glint. "This'll create a little magnetic field of sorts in your wrist," Strange explained. "The nanites won't be able to cross it and start messing with scars and whatnot that we're not looking to fix right now."

"So they'll just stay in my hand forever?" Loki asked dubiously.

"No," Strange answered, beginning to rub the spherical part over Loki's wrist. "Once your cuts are healed, they'll dissolve. They'll also help with any new cuts you accrue in the meantime, but I don't recommend actually getting any."

Loki squinted at him. "Are you considered funny by most humans?"

Strange pursed his lips, injecting the nanites into the back of Loki's hand with a little whoosh of pressurized air. "I used to be," he muttered. "Anyways, if you need pain relief, take one of these," he went on, handing the little orange pill bottle to Loki. "They were designed for Thor, so don't worry about them not working on Asgardian biology. No more than two every twelve hours."

"All right," Loki said, pocketing it in his own hoodie. "And- thank you."

Strange smiled. "I'm a doctor. It's my job."

Loki started to move to collect his art supplies, but Strange's words stopped him. "Um, that's not exactly why I came."

He stopped, biting back a sigh. Of course he wasn't done trying to be helpful. Humans were so _nosy_. "Then why did you?" he asked, turning back around.

"It's just, well…" Strange hesitated. "When you were, you know, half-conscious and bleeding out-" he gestured at Loki's faintly aching side "-I heard you say something about apologizing to your mother."

Loki shifted back warily, fighting back memories of those terrifying moments.

_Protect Thor. Searing agony. Someone yelling. Thor. Thor's yelling. Begging. Val, too. I'm moving, but not moving. Hands in my hair. On my arms. My side. Oh gods, my side hurts. Can't breathe. Can't see. Is that Mother? Tell her I'm sorry._

"What about it?" he rasped.

Strange moved in again, reaching out to brace one arm. Loki realized he was trembling. He started to edge back, but stopped, suddenly needing the steadiness of physical contact. Strange's hesitant touch didn't really provide that, but it was- nice.

"I can stop," he offered, holding Loki's gaze. "I can come back-"

"No," Loki blurted. "I don't-" _I don't want to be alone again._ "What about it?" he repeated after a deep breath, not really sure if he sounded calmer or not.

Strange let go slowly, ready to reach out again. After a moment, he reached into his hoodie's pocket. "Obviously, you didn't get to go into the Asgardian afterlife to say whatever you wanted to say. But Tony has this tech – Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, B.A.R.F. for short, that'll let you relive a memory and… not change it, not really, but you can do whatever it is you wished you'd done."

"Barf," Loki said slowly. "You want me, the heir to Asgard's throne, to use something named after vomit."

"It's worked for Tony," Strange insisted, pulling a pair of glasses from his pocket. "Just put these on, and they'll connect to your hippocampus and project the memory. I know it's not as good as seeing your mother again – believe me, I know – but it works better for those of us who want you to stick around."

Loki took the glasses with the hand Strange hadn't just wrapped up, eyeing them. "They won't actually make me vomit, right?"

"No," Strange laughed. "But you might get a killer headache."

_What can it hurt? Best case scenario, you feel better about your last words to her. Worst case scenario, you get a headache for nothing._

He started to put them on. And stopped. "Are you going to…?"

"Right. Um." Strange backed up, pointing at the door. "I'm gonna- I'm just gonna go."

Loki turned away, looking back at the glasses. They didn't _look_ particularly special. Maybe a little bulkier than they had to be, but humans were hardly known for their perfect technology. The Wakandans had surprised him there, but they still weren't Asgard. Though he supposed they were now, in a way, after T'Challa's offer to take them in.

_Stop stalling,_ he told himself.

After a quick mental shake and a steadying breath, he slipped the glasses on.

Immediately, the bland metallic grey room around him melted away. The floor turned white beneath his feet, four columns sprouting around him. On three sides, semi-transparent gold light shimmered between the columns as, on the gold's other side, the compound and sunny view outside were replaced by cells of grumbling inmates and a shadowed corridor. The meager furniture Mother had managed to provide finally appeared. Behind him, a wall of white slammed down.

He was trapped. Again.

He spun towards the wall. Part of him knew to reach up and yank the glasses off, but pain seared through his hand as it stretched, reminding him only of the times he'd been so desperate for a hint of sunlight that he'd lashed out futilely against the wall. He backed away from it, telling himself to calm down, it wasn't real, but he caught a glimpse of that gold shimmer and remembered how it burned at the slightest touch.

But the simulation wasn't done hurting him. No, it had one more way to drive the knife in, twisting it deep in his heart.

Mother appeared. She stood in the corner, dressed in the same silver and blue outfit he had last seen her in, hands clasped together as she smiled at him. Always smiling. Always putting on a loving face for him, no matter what he did to not deserve it.

The floor started swaying beneath him. He reached out for something, anything to hold him up, but of course nothing was solid. As his breaths quickened to shallow gasps, heart thudding painfully in his chest, his knees started to give out, the unyielding white floor rushing to meet him.

Before he could fall, two strong hands grabbed him by the arm. Loki grabbed for Strange's shoulder, hardly caring about the pain in his hand. The sorcerer carefully let go with one hand, reaching up to pull the glasses off.

The cell vanished, taking Mother along with it. Loki stumbled back from him, slumping against a column between window banks and burying his face in his hands as he fought to regain his composure. Gradually, his breaths slowed and his shaking stopped, leaving him free to realize that Strange was waiting in the doorway, watching the hall.

"You didn't leave," he rasped.

"I said I'd go. I didn't say how far," Strange said, closing the door and returning to Loki's side. "So. Claustrophobia too? Maybe it's a good thing I didn't lock you in a porta potty after all."

Loki nodded, turning his gaze out the window and up to the sky he hadn't seen for almost two solid years. "It's worse in some places."

"Places like where you were locked up and – I assume – actively rejecting the mother you clearly love?" Strange asked, gingerly resting his hand on Loki's shoulder.

Loki let him leave it there, straightening up from his hunch only to drop his head back against the wall. He smiled flatly, looking up rather than at the sorcerer. "How'd you guess?"

"Just lucky, I suppose," Strange shot back, a little smile playing around his lips. "Do you want to try again, now that you know what to expect?"

Loki bit his lip, his calmed heart picking up a little speed again. But Mother had been there, _right there,_ for the first time in far too long. So he nodded, holding his hand out for the glasses. Strange handed them over.

"Here, get off the wall," he offered, shrugging off the cloak Loki finally noticed he had donned at some point. The magical accessory lifted off his shoulders, and he grabbed it, guiding it to rest on Loki. It fluttered, fighting, but after a quick glance at Loki, he hissed in hushed tones, "I'm not asking you to stay with him permanently, Cloaky, just hug the man."

Loki arched an eyebrow. The cloak flicked one corner angrily at Strange, but it settled around Loki, wrapping around him while leaving his arms free to move. And, well, it did feel oddly reassuring. He awkwardly patted his – its – shoulder. "Thank you – er – Cloaky."

Strange cleared his throat, gesturing at the glasses. "Ready?"

Loki nodded, putting them back on. The moment their weight settled on his nose, the cell rebuilt around them. But this time, Strange kept a grip on his elbow, a silent piece of companionship. "It's not real," he murmured.

And maybe that helped with the claustrophobia. But his heart still shattered when Mother reappeared, a physical ache in his chest so strong that he could hardly breathe for a moment. Then the younger him appeared, arrogant and stupid, not even bothering to look at Mother as he remarked, "Odin continues to bring me new friends. How thoughtful."

Strange blinked. "You look good for a guy who's been in prison for- how long was it at this point?"

"A year," Loki replied. Then he snorted. "And that was just an illusion. I really looked something more like this…" He concentrated for a moment. The scene froze, and Loki's duplicate rippled. The perfectly maintained image fell away, revealing unkempt hair, skin too pale, and disheveled clothes.

"That makes a bit more sense," Strange said. "Although I'm not surprised that you're the guy who doesn't grow a beard in prison."

Loki huffed a wry laugh. "You should've seen me the first few days, before Mother convinced Odin to put me in a solitary cell. That was…" He shuddered.

Strange's eyes widened in horror, and Loki knew the old terror was written plainly on his face, but the sorcerer played it off with a simple, "Damn, that's harsh." He glanced around the cell. "So the books and furniture were all her, then?"

Loki brushed his fingers through a book on the table, an old Asgardian fairytale that only she knew he enjoyed. It was gone now, he supposed, blown up alongside Surtur and their planet. "Yes. It always was, really. Odin always wanted me to be more like Thor. A warrior with big muscles, not a scrawny sorcerer who draws."

"And Thor?"

"He's supportive now. He's the one who got that for me," he said, gesturing at where he'd last seen the sketchbook, now hidden by the simulation. "Snuck it to me under our capes so none of you would notice. But before I finally snapped, he didn't really get that there was a line he was always crossing in regards to the jokes."

"That's good. The, uh, first part, not the-"

Loki patted his back quickly. "I know."

Strange gestured at the memory. "Shall we get back to the regret?"

"Joy," Loki muttered. But he let the memory resume.

"The books I sent, do they not interest you?" Mother asked, hands clasped as she moved towards Loki. He stepped away from the wall, placing his chair between him and her.

"Is that how I am to while away eternity? _Reading_?" he asked bitterly, his own hands clasped behind his back to hide their telltale fidgeting from her.

"What do you have against books?" Strange muttered.

"You can only read for hours on end every day for so long," Loki shot back, his gaze never wavering from Mother.

"I've done everything in my power to make you comfortable, Loki," she went on gently. In all his centuries of life, she'd never once raised her voice at him. No, he was always her precious baby, even when the entire universe and Loki himself screamed at her that he wasn't.

"Have you?" Loki returned, a new edge in his voice as he leaned on the back of the chair. "Does Odin share your concern? Does Thor? It must be _so_ inconvenient, them asking after me day and night."

Mother didn't give in to his petulance for a second. She may never have raised her voice, but she wasn't a soft-hearted fool. "You know full well it was your actions that brought you here."

" _My_ actions?" he huffed, sharply moving away as the rant fell from his lips. "I was merely giving truth to the lie that I've been fed my entire life, that I was born to be a king."

"A king?" she said sharply, drawing his gaze back to her. "A true king admits his faults," she pointed out. "What of the lives you took on Earth?"

"A mere handful compared to the number that Odin has taken himself," Loki shot back.

A tiny sigh escaped Mother's lips. "Your father-"

"HE'S NOT MY FATHER!" Loki screamed.

Mother's jaw worked, fighting to hide her heartbreak and hold back her tears.

"Harsh," Strange whispered. "Is that where you-"

Loki turned away, unable to look her in the eyes again as Mother countered with, "Then am I not your mother?"

"Oh," was all Strange could say as the memory froze on a pair of hurt faces, so similar in their agony as they knew the true answer, but forced to watch anyway as Loki geared himself up to give the wrong one.

Loki couldn't take it, the visceral reminder of the shame and guilt that kept him tossing and turning at night even four years later. He dropped to his knees, saved from slamming into the floor by Cloaky's sudden action. Loki yanked the glasses off and threw them away before burying his face in his hands again. He clenched his eyes shut against burning tears, working his fingers into his hair and clutching at it.

Cloaky resettled around him, adjusting to his new position and rippling against him a little as if to rub reassuringly. Strange knelt down, wrapping one arm around Loki's shoulders. He sat in silence for a minute, turning his head away to give Loki privacy. Only when Loki let his hands fall – and Cloaky tapped him on the shoulder to alert him to that – did he speak.

"You know, I wouldn't be here if I didn't know those glasses worked," he said quietly.

Loki looked at him, scrubbing tears from his eyes. "You said they worked for Stark."

"And they did," Strange confirmed. "But… they also worked on me. A few minutes before I first came here."

Loki furrowed his brows in confusion, but waited for Strange to continue on his own.

"Um…" he started slowly, voice trembling as his free hand picked at his pants. "Being a famous doctor, the world knows a lot about me. But one thing they don't know is that, well… I'm actually an older brother. Or, I was one. My sister was a few years younger, and we had a pool in our backyard at that house. My mom left me in charge for ten minutes while she did something inside, and of course I didn't pay much attention to her. She could swim pretty well, I figured – why should I care?"

He paused, closing his eyes against the memory. "Not that day, though. I looked at her one minute, she was fine. Then I went back to… I don't even remember what I was doing. And when I looked back, she was floating on her stomach, not moving. I screamed for Mom, got her out of the pool and begged her to be ok, but beyond that, I was helpless. And… she didn't survive. The paramedics declared her dead at the scene."

Strange swallowed before continuing. "That's when I decided to become a doctor. I saved so many lives, but until I became a sorcerer and met The Ancient One, I was always terrified of failure because of her. Even after all of that character development, part of me was still terrified. Still guilty.

"Until-" he gestured at the glasses now lying across the room "-I put those on. I got to say something happy to her before she went under. I got to try CPR. It couldn't bring her back, of course, but… I feel better. Seeing her again, reliving holding her dead body… I hated every second of it. But I got that do over that everyone wants, you know?"

Loki twisted around, glancing back at the sketchbook still sitting on the floor, at what it represented for his and Thor's relationship. "Yeah," he murmured. "I know."

Strange finally looked at him again, offering up a bittersweet smile. "It hurts like hell. But it is therapeutic, if you let it be."

Loki sighed. "I suppose me making Val relive her own worst memory did help in the end."

"You did what?" Strange exclaimed.

"I apologized!"

"…Go get the glasses."

Loki grunted trying to get to his feet. Cloaky stepped in, taking his weight abruptly. He stumbled a little but stayed upright, probably with a little further assistance. Finally, he picked up the glasses, used a little burst of magic to fix some damage he'd caused, put them back on, and found himself back in the cell.

Still, he hesitated again at seeing Mother's heartbroken expression. He glanced over to see Strange still sitting down, half in the simulation and half outside the wall. He flashed an encouraging pair of loose thumbs-up. Loki opened his mouth to say something, then decided against it. He let the memory replay from the beginning. And waited.

"A mere handful compared to the number that Odin has taken himself," his simulated duplicate snapped.

That tiny sigh escaped Mother's lips. "Your father-"

"HE'S NOT MY FATHER!" the duplicate screamed.

And quickly, Loki stepped in, banishing the duplicate with a simple thought. And then, again, he was taking the full brunt of Mother's stare, of the pain in her working jaw and the disappointment in her eyes, everything about her sobbing, "Where did it all go so wrong?"

She didn't say it, of course. Loki had learned his trickery from the best, his way of using words to twist the dagger into your heart and make you question everything you'd ever done. So all she asked was that quiet, pointed, "Then am I not your mother?"

And still, Loki froze at the implication. That the woman who had raised him, taught him to hold his own in a fight even against juggernauts like Thor, taught him the magic he so prized, hid the food he physically couldn't stomach that Odin tried to make him eat so he would grow big and strong like his brother, encouraged his art when all but Sif scoffed at him for it… The implication that that woman wasn't his mother, that she had never mattered at all, still ached deep in his soul.

But this time, he didn't do what he remembered doing. He didn't yank the dagger from his own chest and plunge it into hers.

In the broken voice of a little boy, he half-whispered, half-sobbed, "You are."

Instantly, the hardened mask she had put on to teach him the lesson shattered. "Oh, Loki," she murmured, tears shimmering in her eyes as she swept forward. She reached up to cup his face, her thumb rubbing gently at his tears. His breath hitched at her touch, his magic rippling over her without conscious thought to make her solid enough to lean into, to close his eyes and nuzzle into that warm, gentle touch.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, reaching up to clutch her other hand. "I'm so sorry- I didn't mean it, I didn't mean any of it- I didn't- I'm sorry-"

She pulled him down to her, gently kissing his forehead. He bent further, hiding in her shoulder, clutching her tight, as if the power of his grip could bring her back to him. She slid her hand to the back of his head, lightly kissing him again, her other arm wrapping around his back.

"I know," she whispered. "I know, sweetheart."

"I love you," he told her fervently. "I love you, Mum."

"I love you too, baby. I love you too."

He moved to grip her tighter, to hide in her familiar comfort a little longer. But suddenly, she was gone, his arms empty, her reassuring murmurs gone. He lurched forward, caught only by Cloaky as his eyes flew open, his hands reaching desperately.

"No," he mumbled, realizing even through the blur of his tears that the simulation had vanished. "No, no no no no- Mother!" He jabbed at the glasses, desperate for them to work, to bring her back-

"Hey!" Strange rebuked gently, suddenly at his side and holding his wrists. "Don't hurt yourself, Loki. She wouldn't want that."

Loki stilled, and in the absence of the fight, he went limp, held up only by Cloaky and Stephen. "But-" he sobbed. "But I need her-"

Carefully, Stephen moved in, wrapping his arms around Loki. "I know. I know."

And Loki broke down. He clutched at Stephen and _cried,_ tears pouring from his eyes in rivers as he fought for breath between the ragged sobs. Stephen held him in return, and so did Cloaky, as they eased Loki to the ground. And then they stayed there, the cloak and the sorcerer watching over the prince, never once letting go as he cried out years of agony. It faded to dry sobs as the sun sank outside, and finally, as the stars began to wake, Loki gave in to his exhaustion.

When he awoke again, just as dawn light was peeping over the trees, he was still on the floor. But there were blankets and pillows beneath him, cushioning him, with Cloaky and other blankets wrapped around him, warm and soft. And they weren't alone, either.

Stephen was nearby, sprawled out on his own pile of blankets, fast asleep. Val was curled up against Loki, his fingers interlaced with hers. And Thor was behind him, one arm holding him close as he snored in Loki's ear. Loki adjusted his position a bit, pulling Val tighter against him and wriggling a little closer to Thor. A grunt interrupted his brother's snores, alongside a mumble of, "You good?"

"No," Loki admitted. His heart was still heavy, his throat ached from the tears, and he missed Mother with fiber of his being. That would never stop. But in this moment, in this place where his rediscovered and newfound family had come to him without hesitation, he was warm and safe and loved and finally healing. "But I will be."

"Good," Thor slurred, still half-asleep but genuinely happy with the response. "Go back to sleep, then."

"Don't tell me what to do," Loki muttered back. But he smiled softly, listening to his brother for once and slipping into peaceful slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're wondering where the porta potty thing and Strange's little sister came from, they were deleted scenes from Ragnarok (that one's hilarious) and Doctor Strange, respectively (that one wasn't on the DVD, I just read it somewhere ages ago).  
> Can you guess where I cried? (Answer: It was around when Frigga said "Oh, Loki." I DIDN'T MEAN TO GET THAT ANGSTY AND I STABBED MYSELF IN THE FEELS AT 2 IN THE MORNING)


End file.
